


Nashville Music City

by lea_ysaye



Category: Daredevil RPF, The Walking Dead RPF
Genre: Fluffy Porn, M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-07
Updated: 2017-06-07
Packaged: 2018-11-10 11:18:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11125968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lea_ysaye/pseuds/lea_ysaye
Summary: Jon and Norman are at WSC Nashville, and spend the night together after a long, tiring day.





	Nashville Music City

The door falls closed, and the sudden silence almost throws Jon off balance. That damn chicken race all day, but the crowds can’t follow them here, thank god. He leans against the door, to steady himself, and to watch Norman. His friend – lover, tonight – slowly explores the room, touching the clothes hanging off the door on the closet, fingers gliding along the desk, the TV sitting on the end. He picks up a tub of hair gel Jon left on top of the hotel stationery this morning in his haste to get ready.

Norman turns the little green tub in his hands. Around and around it goes, until he sets it down again and wanders slowly to the window. It’s not nerves, with Norman. He touches things to ground himself, to measure, to be in the space he inherits. It’s unconscious, and a bit unsettling until you know him, but it’s not nerves. It’s echolocation, that’s how Jonny thinks of it.

Having Norman here in his room makes Jon’s excitement grow, and the groin area of his pants feels suddenly hot.

“Drink?” he asks. They could both do with a little distance from the day, a little softening around the edges, before they get down to business.

Norman tugs on the curtains to peer out of the window. “Got any gin left in that tiny fridge? Finished mine last night.”

Jon crouches before the mini bar. “Yeah, half a dozen short ones. G&T?”

“Hmm.” Norman is engrossed by the little lights flitting down far below. It got dark quickly. They barely saw daylight today, never noticed the time.

Jon makes two drinks, keeping the gin on the easy side. He knows he won’t have any problems getting it up, but he wants Norman conscious for it, too. And they’ve had a damn long day.

He carries the glasses over to the window and nudges Norman on the shoulder with one. Norman reaches for it without looking, eyes still trained on the street below. He takes a good gulp, and finally looks at Jon, smiling appreciatively. “Nice one.”

Now his attention is back in the room, his eyes are sparkling. They look tired and sore from the flashing lights in the photo ops, but they’re alert and gentle, and Jon’s chest fills with happiness.

“Jonny,” Norman says in his low, seductive voice. On his lips, the name is honey. Jon’s pants are painfully tight now.

“Norm,” he murmurs. He takes a step closer, does his best Shane – head tilted, looking down, then glancing up at his best bud in the whole world. That look, with the slight swagger and Shane’s cocky grin makes the other man wild. A slow blush is creeping up Norman’s neck. A sharp intake of breath, and Jon smirks.

He could grab hold of Norman now, have them both out of their clothes in ten seconds. That thought has a certain appeal. But he doesn’t give in to the urge. Instead, he reaches out and lightly touches the Punisher skull on Norman’s chest with his fingertips. “You got any idea how much I wanted to fuck you when you turned up wearing that?”

Norman grins, another breath hitches. He leans into Jon’s hand, puts his full weight behind it. “After you hugged me in the green room,” he murmurs, “I smelled you on me all morning. I couldn’t concentrate for hours. Nearly went off to the gents to rub one out.”

“You should’ve texted, baby.” Jon dips his head. Their faces are inches apart. “I would’ve come to help ya out.”

“Would you?” Norman regards him from nearly closed eyes. Jon knows that expression well. Norman takes a step closer, and Jon drops his hand. Their bodies are almost touching. Norman leans in and pecks at the corner of Jonny’s mouth.

Foreplay.

“Glad you chose to come with me tonight,” Jon says. He’s trying to resist the deliciousness before him as long as he can. Draw it out, make it last. “Jeff not gonna miss ya?”

Norman shrugs. “He can have me any time he likes, back home.”

“What about Flanery?” It’s half play, half genuine curiosity. Jon’s not as sure of Norman, his dude, his lover and best friend, as he once was. Norman has changed. Their worlds have moved on. Yet here they are.

Norman pulls his head back, looks amused. “Jealous, brother?” he asks, the laughter in his voice bringing the pitch up an octave or two. Jon slowly takes the half-drunk G&T from Norman and puts both their glasses on the windowsill.

“Course I’m jealous, asshole,” he growls. It’s all play, of course, but damn, why does he have to spell it out? He goes for the attack, a little harder than planned. His mouth catches Norman’s, starts kissing and licking and sucking so hard and fast, their teeth click together. Norman presses close with a gasp, and Jon reaches around him with both hands, putting them firmly on Norman’s ass. He pulls his dude so close their groins are pressing together almost painfully.

Enough games and bullshit. It’s been six months since they last fucked, and he needs Reedus, now.

The impatience transmits without the need for words. Norman is just as horny, and desperate. His erection is doing all the talking.

All hands now, Norman starts moving Jon back in the general direction of the bed. Warm, dry fingers push his USMC tee out of the way, coast up and down ribs and count every vertebra until Jonny is moaning and writhing. Norman tugs on the waistband of Jon’s denims, but they’re new, and tight. (He _did_ get one text from Norman, right around lunchtime: _Your ass looks great in those jeans, dude._ ) Norman gives a frustrated little whine and pulls back, looking at Jon with interrupted lust. “What kinda fucking chastity belt is that?”

Jon chuckles. “You said you liked how they make my ass look.”

Norman rolls his eyes. “ _Out there_ , yeah.” He waves an impatient hand at the convention center somewhere below them. “ _In here_ , nah.”

“Alright, keep your hair on,” Jon soothes, and pulls away a little until he can get at his pants buttons. Norman’s pout deepens for a moment when their bodies no longer touch, but then he follows suit and undoes his own belt. His pants, heavy with all the crap he’s shoved into the pockets during the day, clatter noisily to the floor. A can of silly string escapes from a pocket and rolls under the bed.

Jon laughs softly, rubbing his forehead. “Really, brother?”

Norman shrugs, swaying precariously on one foot as he tries to free himself from pants, boots and socks without undoing his shoelaces. The G&T has made him a little floaty.

“Kids,” Jon murmurs as he strips off his own pants and steps out of his trainers. He means his buddy as much as the little fans Norman has made so happy during the day just gone.

Finally, they’re both down to tees and underpants. Jon strips off his own shirt, but when Norman makes to mirror him Jon steadies his hand. “No,” he says gently. “That stays.” Then he adds with a little jerk of the head, “Get on the bed.”

Norman obliges, crawling onto the mattress on all fours, and flops down face first with a groan. Jon smiles, feeling a great fondness for his friend. But he also feels a little worried. Maybe they’re too tired. They’ve been on their feet nearly twelve hours, and get to do it all over again tomorrow. And Norman has been holding himself stiffly, like his neck and shoulder, which are always sensitive, are sore.

Jon climbs onto the bed, too, and straddles Norman’s narrow waist. Placing his thumbs into the spots that he remembers tend to hurt the most, he takes hold of Norman’s right shoulder. He begins to slowly knead the hard, knotted muscles. “That good?” he asks.

Norman groans, with relief now, not lust. “Yeah,” he murmurs into the pillow. “Real good. Damn stunts. Threw my shoulder out last week.”

Jon moves onto Norman’s back and shoulder blade, increasing the pressure slowly, until Norman gives a little yelp.

“Sorry, brother.” Jon eases off a little.

“Don’t stop,” Norman sighs. But after a moment he lifts his head. “Actually, do stop. We got other stuff to do.”

Without another word he starts wriggling onto his back, nearly unseating Jon. Briefly, Jon contemplates revenge with a little tussle. But Norman is already sore, and Jon is definitely the stronger and fitter of the two, and he doesn’t feel like hurting his friend. He wants to give Norman pleasure, not pain.

So Jon raises himself on his knees and lets Norman change position. When he’s on his back his eyes seek out Jonny’s and he gives a little grin. His hands lie loosely just above his head on the pillow, shading his face from the ceiling light. His right hand moves down and pushes the Punisher tee up. After a quick caress of the treasure trail Norman’s fingers disappear into his own boxer briefs.

Jon can’t take his eyes off the front of Norman’s underpants, where his lover’s hand is stroking the sizable erection visible through the fabric. Jon grins.

With a fluid motion, he swings his leg off Norman, and practically leaps off the bed. He divests himself of his own boxer shorts, nodding at Norman’s crotch. “Need help with your panties, baby?”

“Nope.” Norman is still stroking his dick, which is maddeningly still out of sight.

“Then why’re they still there, brother?” Jonny growls.

Norman grins, and obliges. Jon watches as Norman tilts his hips and finally frees his fully hard dick from the fabric. He gives Norman an appreciative grin, then goes hunting for slick and condoms in his bag. He’s starting to prepare himself as he steps back over to the bed. His own erection is just right to roll down the condom, not hard enough yet to make that maneuver painful. He stops at the foot end of the bed. “On your back?”

“Yeah.” Norman’s eyes are sparkling, his grin is still in place.

Jonny grins back. Missionary, basically, the most simple position, with Norman’s left leg on Jon’s shoulder, his hips tilted a little. Facing each other, eyes caressing and searching and seeing every little emotion.

Experiments are good and well when you see each other all the time. For them, tonight, it’s all down to what works.

It’s not earth-shattering sex. It’s good, gentle, familiar. They’re both tired, and not as young as they were. They’re horny, and aching for each other. They want to make a mark, remind their bodies of each other, and find it effortless.

They’re not exclusive. They’re not boyfriends or partners or significant others. They’re so much more.

Brothers. Familiars. Family. Lovers, friends and each other’s closest confidant. They know what the other needs.

Jon knows how to hold Norman’s balls just right, tugging gently as he hits the other’s prostate. He knows each nuance on his lover’s face when he approaches climax.

Norman knows Jonny likes to hear him say his name just before the last climb to the peak. “Jonny,” he breathes, low and with a growl. “Oh god, Jonny.” He knows to pull Jon down and into a long kiss as the peak builds, to bite the other’s lip just so, grasp him hard by the neck.

As they come, on the same thrust, they know all those things, and more.

Afterwards, Norman rests his head on Jonny’s chest. Jon tightens his arm around him, and together they wait as their breaths and heartbeats slow, the sweat begins to cool on their bare skin. Jon is contemplating ordering pizza from room service, and watching late night movies, until they fall asleep – or are ready for another round.

“You gotta move back South, Jonny.” Norman’s sleepy voice interrupts his musing. “I miss this.”

“Hmm,” Jon hums, post-coital drowsiness making words rare. He plays with Norman’s unruly, tousled strands of hair.

“Or I move to LA,” Norman continues. “’m bored with Dead, anyway.”

“No, you’re not,” Jon says, unruffled.

Norman sighs. “No, I’m not,” he echoes.

This is ritual, too. Neither of them seriously contemplates uprooting his life. They don’t need to be closer, or be together more often, to know what they have in each other. Nothing and nobody can come in the middle of what they are.

“Good of you to pick me tonight, brother,” Jon teases again.

Norman’s head comes up, his grin, sleepy and sweet and mischievous, goes right into Jon’s heart. “When you’re available, brother? I’ll pick you every single fucking time!”


End file.
